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left alone. He was not fond of showing his work, and un-
like most of the young men who were studying art neither
sought nor gave advice. It was said that in the little studio
in the Rue Campagne Premiere, which served him for work-
room and bed-room, he had wonderful pictures which
would make his reputation if only he could be induced to
exhibit them. He could not afford a model but painted still
life, and Lawson constantly talked of a plate of apples which
he declared was a masterpiece. He was fastidious, and, aim-
ing at something he did not quite fully grasp, was constantly
dissatisfied with his work as a whole: perhaps a part would
please him, the forearm or the leg and foot of a figure, a
glass or a cup in a still-life; and he would cut this out and
keep it, destroying the rest of the canvas; so that when peo-
ple invited themselves to see his work he could truthfully
answer that he had not a single picture to show. In Brittany
he had come across a painter whom nobody else had heard
of, a queer fellow who had been a stockbroker and taken
up painting at middle-age, and he was greatly influenced
by his work. He was turning his back on the impressionists
and working out for himself painfully an individual way
not only of painting but of seeing. Philip felt in him some-
thing strangely original.
At Gravier’s where they ate, and in the evening at the Ver-
sailles or at the Closerie des Lilas Clutton was inclined to
taciturnity. He sat quietly, with a sardonic expression on his
gaunt face, and spoke only when the opportunity occurred
to throw in a witticism. He liked a butt and was most cheer-
ful when someone was there on whom he could exercise his